


Madison's shot at adventure

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander: walking mid-life crisis, Dysfunctional Family, James: passive-aggressively being nice, M/M, My lovely boys, Tags will be updated as the story progresses, Wanderlust-reincarnation AU, also the AU where Alex learns James is a better impulse control than he thought, slight character study elements, the AU where James learn he c a n
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-23 23:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9688919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: James Madison was the boy that looked at people and wondered about what stories they could tell him. He was the boy that thought about all the restricted words people bound to their hearts that wished to be free, and James' wanted to be the person who was the polar opposite of this; he wanted to know a million verbally told books by heart. What James wished for all his life is what he wanted every single second he was alive, he was a non-stop thought train that looked to the sky and wondered what the clouds might look from the other side. James wanted to see the other side of the clouds.He wanted to explore.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> nobody ever thinks about the other things you could reincarnate as, so h e y.

James Madison.

Usually when you think of him, you'd think of him as that guy you looked through. Transparent. Bland. Boring. You don't think twice about the much weaker looking person that stands alongside Thomas Jefferson. You wouldn't dare to. They made quite an intimidating pair after all, and the fact that they could be pitted against _the_ Alexander Hamilton made them all the more troublesome in the social eye. Because if Alexander Hamilton could argue for more than ten minutes with James Madison like he could with Thomas Jefferson, you _avoid_ James Madison then.

And that's what people did. They walked by as if they were in a hurry, except they weren't because it's the 1700s and the only thing people really _have_ to do is wish for another war to come by.

That made life pretty boring for him. You see, James _craved_ a dew drop of adventure since he was young, which meant joining Thomas Jefferson in his own path had been a test to see how wild his life could be made. James wasn't _born_ into politics, he had just been a bored enough boy that decided that being ill in bed was tiresome and that there was an entire world lying unexplored, waiting for someone who craved open fields to unravel the mysteries.

James Madison was the boy that looked at people and wondered about what stories they could tell him. He was the boy that thought about all the restricted words people bound to their hearts that wished to be free, and James' wanted to be the person who was the polar opposite of this; he wanted to know a million verbally told books by heart. What James wished for all his life is what he wanted every single second he was alive, he was a non-stop thought train that looked to the sky and wondered what the clouds might look from the other side. James wanted to see the other side of the clouds.

He wanted to explore.

He couldn't, though. He couldn't live the life he wanted to, and that was the first taste of rage he's had in awhile. The first time anger has emerged from his mouth was when his parents insisted that his dreams could not be fulfilled, because his health had been too important and that throwing it on the line just for the thrill of not being restrained was a fruitless tale to be told. They said James would be a deadman, and James would scoff and not give a damn.

Because there was a desire to experience the adventure the world could not give to anyone at this time period.

Sure, he went to college and became America's first graduate, he even went to war, wrote some papers peopled deemed incredibly important, argued against a few figures he found interesting and wrote some more, except that was all boring. Too bland. Something typical and expected of somebody in this age. James wanted more, but he couldn't have more even if the world was to hand 'more' to him, and that's because he couldn't find a reason to leave Thomas Jefferson's side without causing a total outrage in Congress. James _was_ 90% of Thomas' impulse control after all.

So on most days where he was free, James usually strolled about the cold streets of New York City and wandered into just about any bar that was willing to take in his 'intimidating presence.' James would then sit with anybody that appeared lonely, then invite himself in for a conversation where they'd mostly be doing the talking. Everybody carried all kinds of stories of their personal adventures on them, James was always expecting one to keep him interested while he drinks whatever he decided to order. James even had a cabinet in his office that was full of finished stories he couldn't keep in his house.

Then one day it was Alexander Hamilton that had been sitting idly in a bar, and who was James Madison to decline such a begging opportunity to learn a thing or two about his 'enemy.'

"In all honesty, you're more of pain in the ass than an enemy, I mean - you're there with that asshole Jefferson and all, but..., you're not? You don't seem to want to be there, you get what I'm saying?" James nods to avoid conflict. His mouth has the lingering taste of apple cider, faintly sweet even though the last time he took a sip of it was five minutes ago. Alexander's restrictions appeared to have walked out of the bar, and his mind with it; James doesn't care, "I mean, I wouldn't want to be here either - God, obviously. But y'know, I want to see how my home looks like right now. Did they fix everything the hurricane broke? Is that possible? I don't know -"

At "I don't know" James nearly lets the chuckle brewing in his throat free. There was something Alexander didn't know, and it was the same thing James didn't know - was their home okay? Well, James could always send back a letter, however, considering the fact that he had up and ran off from his parents' catering hands, he'd rather not risk exposing his location. Something akin to pity builds up in his stomach, but the look of knowing-irritation from Alexander squashes its existence. Even with his mind out the door Alex still is pretty intimidating. He also appears to be glowing in the light of lit flames spitting embers against a glass cage. James thinks the sight is lovely.

"Y'know, you and I should fuck all out of here and go to the Nevis - I broke into your office once, y'know? Read like a third of all the stories you jotted down from other people, you _really_ wanna go somewhere else, but, like... Same," Not only does James note the overuse of 'y'know,' he also notes that Alexander knows how to open locked doors - or climb into windows. Either way, James sighs audibly while listening to Alex blabber on about his favorite story that James wrote down, " - love George Washington and all, but the man calls me 'son' every two seconds, y'know what I'm saying? I'd love to leave to just get away from certain people."

In a different world, James wouldn't mind going on a journey with Alexander. There were rumors that the man was known to be unexpected outside of politics, a ticking time bomb that could be filled with gunpowder or something else, James aspired to be that. And he wouldn't mind being partners with that. James could see it now in the newspaper headlines, "America's First Graduate Student Goes On A Lifetime Rendezvous With Secretary Of Treasury," that'd probably stir up a small war in the office if that happens. Still, James doesn't mind that notion.

James doesn't mind a lot of things, to be fair. When he first encountered Thomas, the thing that occurred before common courtesy was Thomas calling James short, dying, and old all in one snarky comment. Now, you'd think he'd apologize for his behavior later when he realizes that James was shaped like a friend, but Thomas had merely shrugged and continued teasing. ' _Teasing._ ' For some reason, he looks back on his post- self's decisions and wonders what went through his mind when he decided, "Let's stick with this unfashionable asshole."

He knows why he stayed, though: at the time Thomas was young, and a fizzling bottle filled to the brim with excitement to make something for himself. James had thought that he was the same. He wasn't, of course. Why in the world would someone who wanted to traverse over oceans and mountains think that a guy who wanted a legacy would make a great partner? Damn, James _really_ wanted to smack his 22-year-old self for being young and naive.

But nobody's born with an old mind -

"Hey you listening?" Alexander is practically standing up in front of his seat, an equally dazed look on his face that softened the anger in his eyes. James gently waves the over man's face away, watching as the other crinkles his nose and clenches his eyes closed while moving back to avoid getting hit. James thinks it's cute. But then Alex sits down, practically drawing out his words in the next sentence, "Anyway..., I'm gonna head back home, there's uh... Something really _really_ important that I need to write. It's uh, life or death? For me at least. I think."

"And what is that?" James lets Alexander take his hand, being a gentleman he is, he will walk this drunk chatterbox home. He could probably take advantage of the man by asking for all of his dark secrets and fears, but James hasn't done that with anyone else so he won't do it now. Besides, it might be nice to have Hamilton on his side; lots of good things could come out of befriending this man.

Alexander, at first, does not answer. Instead, he leans against the smaller man, one arm draped around James' shoulder and the other holding the papers he had been working on. They stumble around a bit due to Alexander's sudden muteness, but then Alex nearly trips and James acts on reflex, via throwing his arm around the taller man's waist and holding him back from possible injuries. This wasn't the first time someone nearly fell next to him, so he does what's regular to him. They are under the moon's light, Madison hurriedly checking Alexander's person for any bruises but only finds unwritten poetry in his eyes.

James swallows the cranberry red butterflies that flutter up to his face in an attempt to stall the blushing. He resumes his ministrations once Alexander does the same. They walk in silence, an unbalanced rhythm caused by the tapping of their shoes against the sidewalk path illuminated the dim beams from the silver orb in the sky. And then,

"I committed adultery due to the state I was in at the time, am being forced to withdraw much money for a man that had planned this all along, and this is all my fault," Alexander stopped walking and pulled James to the side where a sole wooden bench sat within the park beside them. James didn't falter physically, but mentally he did a flip and internally screamed because Alexander's wife is Eliza Schuyler who was incredibly kind to a fault, and _Eliza deserved better_ , "C'mere, sit down - I need advice from you uh... I forgot who you are but, whatever, I guess. Just don't tell anyone."

And he promises Alexander that he doesn't underneath the twinkling stars that chuckle at his words, but the taste of metal and sea salt lingers on his tongue in a way that makes him walk home with the intent to cry later. James won't have to tell anyone if Alexander tells everyone himself. At the time he doubts that Alexander will listen to the advice of some 'stranger' he had forgotten probably ten minutes after meeting, but then the Reynolds Pamphlet is published later and James leaves Thomas' side early that day to go laugh and cry at home.

He always wanted to change someone's life for the better, but _this was not better_.

His life slips away later on and this, along with his very bland life is what he regrets.

You'd think that's how everything ends, but it is 2005 and James wakes up as a cat lying down on the chest of a 4-year-old child that looks eerily similar to Alexander Hamilton.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just some,,,, character study tbh - Cat Madison.....Catison ( *wink wink* ) being passive-aggressively friendly with child Alex, and child Alex being a human disaster; you get the point.

"I love you," Alexander whispers to him. It was cold and this memory was two years ago, James remembers being so surprised by the message his head had practically transformed into a whip because there was _pain_ when he 'turned' it. The memory replays him watching through the veil of midnight, while dark cinnamon eyes belonging to Alex appearing neither sharp nor dazed as it burrows into him, "You're a good friend." He remembers this vividly; this is James' most treasured memory.

Which leads him to believe that being a kitten had its advantages; not only could he scratch Alexander whenever he does or say something wrong, _and_ get away with it, James could also relish in the ever-rising sun that acts as his constant until the day he is able to chase it down. For now, he'll excuse the cuddling. Other than that, these facts were how James was to cope with him being a cat. Sure, an all too calm Russian blue bearing emerald eyes that stared at the youngest in the house with familiarity, but an innocent cat to a problematic child nonetheless.

'Child,' James internally laughed at that title, mostly because Alexander, no matter his age or height, made it hard for the word 'child' to be applied to him - from the indifference in the conversations, to the short requests from people around him, Alex was withdrawn even towards his parents, and his parents with their bad decisions, returned the behavior using their own apathy. The youngest had a natural tendency to act the way he does, and James has endured it.

He feels old talking as though he’s been around Alexander for years.

Well, to be fair, he doesn't know how old he, as a cat, is, except for the fact that he's still not old _enough_ ; According to the 8-year-old who home-schools himself through the store-bought academic books: "If you can't jump on my chair, then you can't go outside yet - you gotta prove yourself, buddy, you gotta _rise up!_ " James would then meow in an irritated tone, scratch at Alex's already damaged ankle and strut off into a spot where the sun is smiling upon in the room. Call it passive-aggressive that he doesn't take out his annoyance head on, but James never got _furious_ ; angry, maybe, but furious was descriptive and it just didn't work in his temper.

Still, James attempted to jump onto Alex's chair every day, because when he falls - Alex would smile endearingly, and he would pay attention to him. Compared to the empty glances, there was something akin to relevance whenever James witnessed Alex's encouraging smile as he picked himself off the ground: "Rise up! Rise up!" His mind would yell every time. You see? It was scheduled in James' life for him to make an attempt.

Today's routine shouldn't have been different; considering that James was perched on the same stack of dully colored books, ones that Alex has long finished reading already, short gray coat taking in the sunshine from outside as the sun stretched her warmth through the crystal clear windows. The nearby warmth, the faraway taste of freedom, James could feel what he couldn't physically touch. Soon, though, he would be capable enough to get lost in the fields beyond these 'colossal' walls. Perhaps he would somehow encourage Alexander to come with too.

At best, Alexander would remain a continuous being that relentlessly cuts through the fields, stride strong and powerful while he grins his way into the sun's darkness. James always took the other as the kind to devote himself to his works, simply so he could prove someone wrong. Simply so he could prove that his instincts had been right. That was what made Alex..., Alex.

Though there were downsides to being continuous; Alexander hadn't eaten since the last midnight moon, his random bouts of endless opinionated speeches have stopped, and James can see the shakiness in his hands that whatever Alex is writing, isn't something usual. This happened at random periods of time last year, but once it stopped, everybody else's thoughts on the irregularity stopped too. And yet, James finds himself staring at the bouncing legs that usually becomes a napkin to Alex's sweaty palms, and he starts meowing for whatever is happening, to stop.

Of course, he knows that it won't just by the command of a growing kitten, but he was hoping that someone could help.

And someone does! Sorta.

Kinda.

Not really.

It takes five minutes for Alexander's dad, Harold, to open the door, a second for Alex to stop writing whatever was on his mind, and everything melts off to the side the moment Harold decided to take charge. A very bad concept to be put into reality, if he could say so himself. James closely observes as the gray-haired man shakes the wooden chair Alex sits in, the attempt startling his son so much Alex nearly screams, in a rush of ‘man’s- _second_ -best-friend' sort of adrenaline, James snarls, hisses, and screams at Harold when Alex suddenly begins to hyperventilate.

Then the pathetic excuse for a father had the _audacity_ to gasp as though a demon had _suddenly_ appeared in the room, before he simply skedaddles from the scene, tail between his legs. _God_ , James hated people so much.

The door is slammed closed behind him, the action telling of Harold's guilt and lack of effort to try to understand. The worst part being when the force and noise sent jolts through the entire room, the magnitude of it was strong enough to make the stack of books shake, and enough to raise Alexander's whimpers to an audible level. So James in his worried glory, hops off the towering novels to avoid Alex's slapdash movements, narrowly avoiding landing on an unpleasantly sitting pencil once he does hit the ground.

James pads over to Alexander's bed hurriedly, crying, meowing.

'Alex, can you just - goddamn it, Alex - pick me up, you're drowning yourself in an ocean of tears, and I'm pretty sure you're also suffocating yourself with the pillow - !!!' James' internal monologue is put to a pause when he feels two shaky hands pluck him off the patterned rug, in a rush of actions his nose is pressed against Alex's chest whereas the white brick walls of their bedroom is traded for capable arms wrapped around him, but also with enough room for him to be comfortable.

To be honest, James was not as small as a kitten though he liked the time where he was, but he wasn't an old cat either, even though it would hand him access to the outside. He was as big as 8/10th of Alex's laptop; he would know too, James had taken massive joy, deeming it fun as well whenever he gets to walk all over the keyboard at times where Alex had passed the three-hour mark on the writing app installed. However, ruining Alex's concentration when he is in 'the zone' was not the only thing James had taken massive joy in, James had also deemed it a privilege for him to be able to fit perfectly in Alex's arms no matter how big he was.

James didn't make as much as a peep, opting to curl up against the boy's chest as he counts the second that slips by them in the silence they have. Although, when the door is opened, James stands up from Alex's castle barriers that pulls him closer with the rest of his body. There was shame in the way Alex's outstretched legs moved to fold against his chest as close as he could, without hurting James to complete the fetal position Alex had shifted in. James didn't care as much as he did about the intruder that poked their head in.

Harold had appeared once more, a sense of curiosity seeping past the golden bronze skin that appeared almost like fancy leather on his rusting frame. A man past his prime. From where he was, James could practically hear the metal limbs creaking from lack of movement. Harold moved stiffly, and yet, one step into the room and James had hissed so loudly despite the highness in his voice. The other closed the door immediately, obviously disgruntled towards himself for being afraid of something as small as James.

'Harold, you and your lack of tact and courage is what drives your fear over the top in my presence, and because I am not your wife - I can smell the disappointment that radiates from your existence when you walk into this room,' James nudges his head against Alex's neck, relishing quietly at the sound of an even heartbeat, purring contently when he feels Alex’s previously heaving chest, be reduced to a calm pattern. This was good, Harold was not.

He feels Alexander shift slightly - not much of a difference than before, the 8-year-old had simply pushed his legs back out and wiggled upwards so his head could hit the pillow, that's all. James doesn't mind, since he also moves upwards to place himself back where he was originally. There is warmth. And internally, the cat smiles when he feels his friend's hair drape over his back. James' tail flicks from side to side before it smacks against Alex's shoulder then stops moving at all.

They sleep while cuddling the other for protection of the past, bracing themselves for tomorrow and the day after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters are Madison's character being developed before I kick it off into the actual plot; I just wanted to put Madison in a position where he couldn't do anything except exist in a room with Alexander.
> 
> yknow,,,, b o n d i n g.
> 
> (((((((((^:

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh!!!! prologue!!!! there's m o r e!!!! ahh!!!!
> 
> ask me stuff on my Tumblr: @gracefullydisfigured !!!


End file.
